Mycroft - Cypher
by AlessNox
Summary: This is an experiment. A sequel to Mycroft - Confession, Truth, and Lies from the mind of Mycroft himself. SPOILER WARNING! Contains details from Season 3. Please give me feedback as to whether I should continue this work.
1. 15 June, 2012

_**I:** 15 June, 2012_  
_Her majesty's location Nottingham, the diamond jubilee, State of Emergency declared in Burma, More requests from the Greek government. Heavy rains predicted. Bring Umbrella._

**II:** His forced confession had done its job. Mycroft Holmes had received the one thing that the government had always been loathe to give him. Time off. He used that time to make arrangements for Sherlock to leave the country. He had been involved in some delicate negotiations. It wasn't a good time to be distracted from his work, but then again, his little brother always had been a distraction.

This time, however, his interests and Mycroft's were aligned. Moriarty had been a thorn his side time and time again. A chaotic element in the shifts of power that kept the world running smoothly. Who would guess that James Moriarty would have become infatuated with his little brother? Who would have guessed that Sherlock Holmes would allow himself to die to the world, would allow the media to call him an idiot, just to destroy this criminal's network? It was surprising. But then, Sherlock had always been surprising ever since he was a child, back when his greatest ambition was to be a pirate. Although Mycroft would never admit it, Sherlock made his life bearable, because he always had a way of doing the unexpected.

_**III:** 19849433241,27748873851, simple. They are square roots. Do the inverse and combine to form 394 770 037 594 999 459-39489405900. The format suggest the Raiffeisen group of banks. Comparing to their standard account number suggests .._

**IV:** "I'll be going to Pakistan first, and then Tibet. How do I reach you?"  
"You have my number."  
"This money won't last for long."  
"Don't worry about money. Moriarty stored his private bank account numbers on his phone. You can use his own ill gotten gains to bring down his organization. Poetic justice, is it not?"  
"So those were bank account numbers stored in the databank? I thought that they were encrypted?"

" A simple substitution cypher, I believe. It shouldn't take long to decode. I will send it to you."  
"Give me the numbers and I'll figure it out myself."  
"No need. I told you that I'm working on it."

Sherlock nodded and covered his dark curls with his hat. He pulled up the collar of the cheap dockman's parka that he was wearing, and walked to the door. "You will watch over things while I'm away won't you?"  
"I always watch over things. What things in particular concern you?"  
"I'll want my coat back."  
Mycroft laughed, "You always fill your mind with such useless trivia, my dear brother."  
"And John. Will you keep an eye on John?"  
"Two eyes, whenever I get the chance, and ..."

"And what?"

"A small thank you wouldn't go amiss."  
"What for? If you hadn't let Moriarty's organization get out of hand, then I never would have had to leave London in the first place. It's time to go. Goodbye Mycroft."  
"Good Luck, Sherlock."


	2. 16 October, 2013

_**I:** 16 October, 2013 _

_Opposition planning to make points at Prime Minister Question Time, Rise in patriotism index due to England football win, Core from the Russian meteorite recovered from lake and shown to be a rock and not a spy satellite as some had claimed. Overcast and cool, some rain expected_

**II:** Sherlock's absence was beginning to be worrying. He had made his last report two weeks ago, his last pick up of money five days ago, and then nothing. He was in Serbia investigating one Baron Maupertuis, a particularly sadistic criminal and dealer of chemical and biological weapons. He would send an agent in, but at the moment all of his best agents had been pulled back home to investigate. All signs pointed to a massive terrorist strike on British soil. If Sherlock had got himself in too deep, then Mycroft might have to do some...(indrawn breath) Field work.

He sat back in his desk and pulled out a file. A man with a mustache stared back at him. What will Sherlock think when he comes back to find that John Watson has moved on? Surely he's seen the website. Recently, John has been spending time staring into jewelry store windows. Not one of his normal occupations. And his intended, Mary Morstan, a nurse at his surgery, sweet, pretty in her way, but much cleverer than any of the other women that he has dated. And her history, her father. Very interesting. But then again, John Watson never had a problem living with interesting people.

Mycroft rubbed his middle finger across the portrait. I like the new look. I think the mustache is quite fetching. It makes him look more dignified, like a colonel from the Indian wars.

**IV:**

"Sir"

"Yes, Agnes."

"We found Masterson's body. He is confirmed dead."

"Damn! I hate losing agents. And his message?"

"He said, and I quote,_ 'There's an underground terrorist network in London, and a massive attack is immanent.'_ "

"An attack, where? Did he give us any locations, coordinates?"

"That's all that he managed to say before..."

"That's hardly enough information to go on. Back trace his location. Find everywhere that he has been in the last twenty four hours. We must find that underground terrorist network."

"Yes sir," she said carefully closing the door just as his phone rang. It was Mummy. He gave a great sigh before pressing the button.

"Hello."

"Mycroft! Good Afternoon. Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Yes Mummy."

"That's good, because I'm having a dinner party this weekend and I'd like you to attend."

"I don't think that will be possible. There is an urgent matter..."

"Now you know, Mycroft, that there is always an urgent matter going on sometime or another. If they need you, they will come and get you. I want you here."

"But Mummy..."

"I've invited Margarie Hamilton as well. You remember her, you took dance classes together. She's looking just lovely. She just left her long-time boyfriend, poor girl. She could use some cheering up and you are getting entirely too old to not be married."

"Mummy?"

"And what about Sherlock? Is he alright, he hasn't phoned."

"He can't contact anyone Mummy, he's undercover."

"But he is alright?"

Mycroft took a breath. "I don't know how he is right now, he's out of touch."

"Out of touch. Is he in danger?"

"The situation that he has gone into is volatile, yes, but there is nothing to suggest that he has been hurt."

"Mycroft Holmes, you know that I depend on you to keep your little brother out of trouble."

"Yes Mummy."

"I'll let you miss this weekend's dinner, but I want you to find your brother and make sure that he's alright."

"Yes, Mummy."

"You know that I worry."

"Yes Mummy."

"Now take care, Oh, and your Father says goodbye."

"Goodbye Daddy, Mummy."

He disconnected the call and sat down, always surprised at his need to remain standing when talking to his mother. Then he texted Agnes.

[Book flight to Serbia and buy me a warm coat with Russian Army stylings.]

** II**_._ I suppose that I am going undercover. How tedious.

_**III:** Serbian. Cyrillic alphabet. Slavic. Similar to Turkish. There must be loan words. srce, "heart", plav, "blue", Zdravo priјatyeljoo!, "Hello my friend!"_


	3. 28 October, 2013

**I. **_28 October, 2013. _

_Three days after the eruption of mount Etna, Heavy rains across Europe due to storm St. Jude. Damp and dismal, especially in this squalid Serbian prison._

**II. **Now I remember why I hate fieldwork so much: The noise, the squalor, the smell. The man beside me must not have bathed for a week. No wonder he has an adulterous wife. Look, another puddle. Can they not invest in proper roofing? The guard points when I ask how to find the "Security Room". Honestly, as if anything in this base is secure. I hardly needed the expertly forged papers revealing me to be an noted interrogator. I could probably have walked up to the gate and claimed to be soviet era fighter pilot and got in just as easily. They are hardly discerning. The Baron has a lot to learn about ruling the world. I could certainly give him lessons. He should keep cleaner barracks for one.

A clean well-fed soldier is an efficient soldier. Case in point, John Watson. I have been through his service records from the very beginning. And before then, to his school records. He played rugby as a youth. He studied medicine. John Watson has very clean habits, and despite Sherlock's constant chiding about the patterns of his jumpers, he has a very pleasing style and appearance in my opinion. Many a time I've noticed it, when we sat together over lunch discussing Sherlock. The way that the blue stripes of his shirt complemented the deep blue of his eyes.

But there is no blue to be seen today, only the blacks and browns, and greys of this hellish prison. It was easy enough to get into it. The difficulty will be in getting out again once Sherlock is found. As far as I know, neither of us knows how to fly a helicopter. Besides that, the easiest way out to get out, would be to send a message for a recovery team. Then they could dispose of the Baron's men at the same time. Agnes, or Anthea as she prefers to be called in a covert situation, will have set up an office for me by now. She has probably found me a desk and a portrait of the queen for the wall. Anthea is nothing if not efficient. But now, I must assess the communications and find the exits to this place.

**III. **_Front gate two guards and one guard station in sight of the main gate._ Not the best._ Side gate. Two guards, Laundry service in at 4 pm twice weekly. Back gate for food deliveries. Weekly for the prison and barracks. Every morning for the castle at the top of the hill. _How very much like a vampire story. The bloody baron in the castle with a prison at the base to house his victims._ Food trucks are searched on the way in and out. Two guards stationed at the back gate, but it is isolated. Not visible from the barracks._ Possible weak point.

**IV.**

Mycroft entered the security room to find the guards on their feet."What is it? What's going on?" he asked.

"An intruder was in the castle."

"An intruder?"

"Yes, the Baron's room has been completely ransacked. He won't admit to anything being stolen but the main house is in an uproar. We are to search the grounds."

"Do they think that he's still here?"

"Look! The back gate! Use the alarm!"

"What?"

"Someone has disabled the guard and is getting out."

Mycroft looked at the screen and caught sight of a tall, long-haired man with a familiar gait sliding under the chain that sealed the back gate.

Mycroft reached out his foot and covertly disconnected the speaker system's power cable.

"Hit the alarm!"

"I did. It won't work."

"Why not?"

"It must be problem with the speakers," Mycroft said, "check the roof. There is a usually a switch box there."

"Right." the guard said rushing out, the other man following behind.

Mycroft closed the door and locked it. When they asked, he would explain that it was a standard security measure when the base was under attack. Sherlock had found a motorcycle now, and was riding away. Some guards had caught sight of him, but they were hampered by the locked gate. No one apparently had the key. Sherlock would have certainly disposed of one of them. The other was in the drawer on the desk in front of Mycroft. He put his feet up and sat back. Yes, the Baron certainly had a lot to learn about ruling the world, or catching a Holmes.


	4. 1 November, 2013

**_I. _**_1 November 2013, evening._

_No decent news sources in this place. Only news is that I have found Sherlock._

**II. **They had used infrared sensors when they had hunted him by helicopter, so simply leaving the grounds is not enough. We must appear to have a legitimate reason to leave, or we will never make it to Anthea's waiting car.

Luckily, the guards at the gate will be expecting to see me, since I have been leaving the base at this same time each day, arguably to buy special cigarettes from a woman who runs a store nearby. In truth, I have been teaching her French as she has a wish to visit Paris. Most of the guards, however, believe that I am secretly shagging her.

Anthea is seven miles away, parked in front of a night club. People will assume a similar story when they see a beautiful, rich, British woman welcome two strong Serbian soldiers into her car.

Once there, we should be safe, but we must get out of here before Sherlock's absence is discovered. The young guard with the earphones had believed me when I pointed to the stack of potatoes in the darkened cell and said that some time alone would loosen his tongue. But if anyone were to look at all closely, they would set off the alarm.

Stand up straight, Sherlock. Please don't stagger or fall down before we get to the truck. I'll smile and distract the man so that he won't see your wayward locks peeking out from under your hat. Get inside. The darkened cab should hide the hair on your face. Depending on circumstances, which at this moment are chaotic, we have from five to twenty five minutes before everything here goes to hell.

**_III. _**_Chance of pursuit? Mansion in chaos. Attention divided. No pursuit from uphill. Prison Guard en route to home to confront wife. Will divert attention. Helicopter out of fuel. Fuel reserves low due to leak in tank. Sabotage. No pursuit. Tracker on truck disabled._

**IV.**

The guards waved them through the gate, and they drove away at an easy pace. But as soon as they had passed into the welcoming darkness of the forest, Sherlock slouched in his chair, his head falling to the side.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Uhnnn, that hurt."

"You had escaped before. I saw you. Why did you come back?"

"The job wasn't finished yet."

"The Baron?"

"Dead."

"You killed him?"

"Not directly, but I did set it in motion. His lieutenant actually did the deed."

"But if it was going to happen anyway, why return?"

"I destroyed the source of his power, his formulas, his weapons. This organization won't stand without him. It's over," Sherlock said, then he slouched forward and passed out.

Mycroft put out a hand to stoke his head, "Always so reckless, little brother." he said before increasing the speed of the truck, and turning down a side road toward the night club and Anthea's waiting car.


	5. 2 November 2013

**_I._**_ 2 November, 2013_

_French Journalists killed in Mali, another cease fire in Yemen, severe flooding throughout England and Wales, and the world seems much more tolerable after a shower and a good cup of tea._

**II.** The office that Anthea has managed to create is very good despite the fact that we are not in England. The Annigoni portrait of Her Majesty was always one of my favorites. Sherlock after his shave is back to his irritating self, accusing me of enjoying his suffering. I suppose that it was too much to ask for him to appreciate my sacrifice. Leaving London and doing field work, which I hate, in order to save his life. Even so, he cannot deny that he owes me for the last two years. He can start by finding that terror cell. I wonder how long it will be before he asks about him.

**_III. _**_The baroness is in the custody of the Serbian government. The Lieutenant of Baron Maupertuis has already been jailed for his murder. Interpol will have him relocated to Germany where he is wanted for several murders. Much more secure than the Serbian jails. The baroness who has also been accused as an accessory will probably buy her way out of trouble. No matter. She is a small fish._

**IV. **

"And what about John Watson?"

"John?"

"Have you seen him?"

"Oh yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips." Mycroft says sarcastically. "I've kept a weather eye on him of course. You haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?"

"Um no." Sherlock looks at the picture of John with his new mustache, "We'll have to get rid of that."

"We?"

"He looks ancient. I can't be seen wandering around with an old man. I think, I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted."

"You think so?"

"Mmm, walk into Baker street, you know jump out of a cake."

"Baker street? He isn't there anymore. Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life."

"What life? I've been away."

**II.**

The arrogance of my brother. Supposing that he can walk back into John Watson's life as if he'd simply been away for the weekend. To assume he will forgive him for faking his death, and leaving him heartbroken for two years. I suppose that he can't have understood how poorly John took his death. That depth of feeling is alien to Sherlock.

If he only knew how closely I have watched John Watson, his struggles, his pain. So stoic at the funeral only to collapse in grief when he thought himself alone. Why is that everyone calls me cold when Sherlock discounts John's grief so casually?

**IV.**

"Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?"

"You always know."

**II.**

It's true. I always know. I make it my priority to know. If Sherlock knew how closely I monitor John Watson, he would say that my attention borders on the obsessive. No, he would say that it is obsessive. My forced confession was not entirely a lie. Very little of it was, in fact.

It is because of my attention that I know what John is planning to do tonight. Let Sherlock walk into that land mine and see if John forgives him. Maybe Sherlock is right. Maybe I do enjoy seeing him beaten. I suppose that a warning is the least that I can do.

**IV.**

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome."

"No it isn't. Now where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"You know what."

Anthea enters then with his precious coat. She says "Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."

And he is back. Thank the heavens.


	6. 4 November 2013

**I. **_4 November, 2013_

_Terror alert has been raised to critical._

**II.**

One of the great comforts in my life is that no matter how old we get, Sherlock remains the same as ever. He is my one constant in a world of uncertainty. That is why I allow him talk me into playing childish games. I suppose one might call it ... nostalgia.

**IV. **

"Upsy, can't handle a broken heart. How very telling."

"Don't be smart."

"That takes me back, '_Don't be smart, Sherlock. I'm the smart one.'_ "

"I am the smart one."

"I used to think I was an idiot."

"Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, 'til we met other children."

"Oh yes, that was a mistake."

**II. **

It was true that I thought that Sherlock was an idiot. His mind was always so linear. It is all cause and effect, effect and cause. Despite my tutelage, he was unable to learn how to think in parallel. He found it virtually impossible to process more than one thought at the same time. Even now, when he concentrates hard on one problem, he doesn't notice the world around him. He is totally unaware of his environment. I remember how much fun it was to give him problems to deduce only so that I could watch him drop his milk glass when a revelation struck him, humorous. Despite this deficiency, he is able to make great leaps of logic cutting straight to the heart of a problem and then solving backwards from the answer.

This is why he is so useful. He does in leaps and jumps what takes me long hours of parallel calculations to solve. And he can find answers in the absence of complete sets of data. I need data to function. How can I lay down layers of information to build up a clear picture of what will happen, without data? There would be gaps. How painful. It takes time and good intelligence to get the information needed to complete an accurate picture of the world. That is why I insist on the best information sources. At this time, the British government still has a lead in that area. Thank goodness for the surveillance state!

**_III. _**_Tell Anthea to check for strange comings and goings at the foreign embassies. Remember to send security updates to the prime minister daily. Investigate whether clogging of nuclear reactor cooling plant is due to sabotage. And have Anthea send a car for the parents when they get into town, if they don't misplace their ticket, again. _

**IV.**

"Oh yes... _'friends'_. Of course you go in for that sort of thing now."

"And you don't...ever?"

"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish."

"Yes, but I've been away for two years."

"So."

"Oh, I don't know, I thought that you might have found yourself a...goldfish."

"Change the subject...now!"

**II.**

Sherlock is gloating. Odd that he should gloat about having friends now? Although he has Inspector Lestrade and Miss Hooper to fall back on, John Watson openly attacked him. According to the footage that I reviewed last night, he had done so, repeatedly. And yet, Sherlock continues to lecture me on friendship. I may lack experience when it comes to having friends, however In the game of deductions, I always win.

**IV.**

"But you've missed his isolation ..."

"I don't see it..."

Sherlock places an ugly knit cap on his head. It doesn't suit him.

"... Anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he?"

"Not at all, Maybe he just doesn't mind being different, doesn't necessarily have to be isolated."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry?"

"He's different. so what? Why would he mind? quite right. Why would anyone mind?"

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock."

"How would you know?"

**II.**

_Tou·ché!_

It is a bit humbling. Sherlock so rarely wins an argument with me. In another time I would have countered him with a list of problems associated with emotions. Caring isn't an advantage. I've seen it time and again. However, lately I have been wondering if there is not something to be gained from ...companionship.

It isn't a new thought for me. After all, even the beasts find mates. Even the simplest find some kind of satisfaction from companionship. Huddling together for warmth and that sort of thing. And children raised with only cold reason and no touch will die they say. I am not _unaware _of physical desire. I am no virgin. Lack of experience in such matters is a handicap that is too easily exploited. Look at how Irene Adler manipulated Sherlock. Such tricks would not work on me.

But Irene Adler is a prime example of why I avoid relationships. She is intelligent, but deadly, like an asp or a viper. One would not willingly clasp such a thing to one's breast. Gone are the days when reading of the intelligent men of the Renaissance could stir my blood. No one that I have ever met with an iota of true intelligence is to be trusted. And to cling to a lesser mortal, a goldfish, is as pointless an exercise as sleeping with a blanket or a stuffed bear.

And yet, it is impossible to ignore the change that has come over Sherlock. How he has turned from an apathetic drug-using cynic into someone who has... what is it exactly? I suppose one would call it _'hope'_. He has hope that tomorrow will be worth living. In fact, one could almost call him an optimist. The way he so fervently argues in favor of friendships when the person whom he had "died" for, the very one for whom he had lived a pseudonymous existence for two years, has rejected him. He still believes that John Watson will return to him despite all evidence to the contrary, and if truth be told, I believe it too.

Because John Watson is an exceptional man, exceptional in his loyalty. He has always loyally stood by others, from his mother during her divorce, to his dishonored commanding officer, to Sherlock in his disgrace. Even I can not help being moved by him. So much so, that when Sherlock asked me if I had ever considered it, I panicked. I was afraid that somehow he would read my mind.

He can never know that when I close my eyes at night, I can't help but imagine large, strong hands upon my cheek, and the tickle of pale mustache hairs beside my lips.


	7. 6 November, 2013

**_I._**_ 6 November 2013_

_Parliament scare halted. Chambers evacuated while teams search out all of the bombs. Forecast: a mixture of sunshine and showers. Prediction: More storms ahead._

**II. **

How could I have missed it? I must have slackened off after Sherlock's return, assumed that all was safe after Moriarty's network was finished. John Watson was almost burned to death. Burned! Who would have done such a thing and why?

Was it an attack on Sherlock? Was it an attack on me? Have I somehow revealed my weakness at last? The priest, he could have told someone, despite the assurances of confidentiality, there is always a way to make someone talk if one works hard enough. And there are those who know how to exploit such weaknesses when they are found. But who did it? Who?

Moriarty? No. Confirmed dead. I made sure to examine the body personally in this instance. Moriarty's associates? No. Sherlock says that they have all been dealt with. Rival governments? No. It makes no sense for any country to mount a personal attack on me at this time, if it was a personal attack.

**_III._**_ Assess odds that this is an attack against Sherlock. List Sherlock's personal enemies known to be free, and in the area. List currently numbers 234. Number one..._

**II. **

Ah, here comes Mummy, heaven help me.

**IV.**

"Mycroft."

"Mummy."  
She pats his stomach.

"Your waistcoat getting a bit tight isn't it? You've got to watch your weight you know. You have your grandfather's metabolism and heaven knows he had trouble with his weight. Died at 58 from a heart attack. When they opened him up the arteries were clogged straight through. Sherlock, on the other hand, can't keep a pound on him. He looked like a stick when we were over there, didn't he dear?"

"Yes dear, like a stick."

"Who knows if he was even eating when he was on his trip. He said that he'd call more. Of course he can hardly call less when he hasn't called us at all in two years."

"Things will be better now that he's back, I'm sure Mummy."

"Oh, I think things are already better. That old flatmate of his showed up when we were over. Dr. Wilson? No ...what was it again?"

"Watson. Dr. John H. Watson."

"Yes, that's him. I had never met him before, but Sherlock didn't give us time to introduce ourselves. He pushed us right out the door. I had to stick my foot in it to get him to say that he'd call. He promised though, didn't he dear?"

"Yes, he promised he'd call."

"That's right."

"Dr. Watson, did he seem to be angry at all?"

"Angry? Well, not that I could see. Though, as I said, I didn't see much of him. He seemed very cordial though, and Sherlock was certainly excited to see him. He shoved me right out! It was almost as if he had invited a girl over and he didn't want his mother to embarrass him. Well, it's how I'd imagine it to be. It's not as if he's ever invited a girl over before, or a boy for that matter if you don't count that Trevor fellow. So tell me about the musical that we're going to see."

"Here is the program, Mummy. Have a look. Now please excuse me, I need to give Sherlock a ring."

Mycroft walked out of the room and then sighed heavily before opening his phone.

"What is it Mycroft?"

"I hear you had a visitor. So did the good doctor find it in his heart to forgive you after all?"

"Of course, I told you he would. Is that all? I have guests over."

"Guest?"

"Yes guests. All of us are not solitudinarians like you. And I have things to do today."

"Ah yes, the press announcement. Your public declaration that you are not dead. A bit sensational don't you think?"

"It doesn't hurt to get a little publicity. That's how we make our money, after all. Clients won't know to hire us if they still think I'm dead."

"Us? Aren't you assuming a bit much of the good doctor? He has proposed to Mary by now, hasn't he?"

"Not quite, but that won't stop him working with me. He shaved off that silly mustache for me after all."

"Did he? The mustache is gone?"

"I'm surprised at you, Mycroft. Weren't you watching the cameras last night? I thought for sure that you'd review them after we stopped Parliament from being blown sky high."

"I was busy! a number of people needed calming after realizing that they had been sitting over a bomb."

"Well, you'll see us on the news after you get back from _Les Mis_. Have fun!"

"Sherlock, you can't force me to sit through an entire opera with Mummy, you just can't!"

"You promised."

"Please. You are much better with them than I am. I can send a car."

"And deprive Mummy of your company? Impossible. Goodbye Mycroft."

"Sherlock!"

The phone clicked closed.

"Mycroft! It's time to go. You know father needs time to go to the washroom before it starts. His bladder isn't what it used to be."

"What it used to be."

"Oh Dear God!"


	8. 18 May 2014

**_I. _**_18 May__ 2014_

_Earthquake in Japan. The Pope ends his visit to India. Forecast: Sunny. A beautiful day for a wedding._

**II.**

Twenty minutes on the walker, completely winded, but the tummy does seem a wee bit tighter. The phone rings.

**IV.**

"Yes what, Sherlock?

"Why are you out of breath?

"Filing."

"Either I've caught you in a compromising position, or you've been working out again. I favor the latter."

"What do you want?"

"I need your answer, Mycroft. It's a matter of urgency."

"Answer?"

**II.**

The sounds of glass clinking in the background, happy voices... Sherlock is at a party. A party? Oh yes. How could I have forgotten?

**IV.**

"Today, it's today, isn't it? No Sherlock, I will not be coming to the '_night do_' as you so poetically put it."

"What a shame, Mary and John will be extremely ..."

"...delighted not have me hanging around."

"Oh I don't know. There should always be a spectre at the feast."

**II.**

No. I can't go to John Watson's wedding. To see him binding himself to some woman. Happy. To have him frown when I enter the room. I haven't approached him. Not since... how could I? And I fear that even if Sherlock is too distracted with his own emotions to see, that Mary would notice. She is a very perceptive woman. She would surely see the envy in my eyes. The way I envy the ones who have won John's heart.

I can't believe that it is finally happening, Sherlock parting from John. I had better get the spare room ready. It won't be long before Sherlock needs a shoulder to cry on, so to speak.

**IV.**

"I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on."

"What do you mean?"

"Just like old times."

**II.**

After Sherlock's speech about friendship, I had begun to wonder if I really was...lonely. Anthea was willing, but it never felt right, No point in destroying a working relationship in search of a dubious attachment.

It will be reassuring to see more of Sherlock though. Like a fine brandy, he has mellowed a bit with age. Even so, it is sad to see the old team break up. It's the end of an era.

**IV.**

"...I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter."

**II. **

A new chapter? Can he possible be so naive? Doesn't he know that John is leaving him for good?

Poor Sherlock. Someone needs to break the news to him.

**IV.**

"This is what people do, Sherlock, they get married, I warned you. Don't get involved."

"Involved, I'm not involved."

"No."

"John asked me to be his best man, how could I say no?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm not involved."

"I believe you, really, I do. Have a lovely day, and do give the happy couple my best."

"I will."

"Oh by the way, Sherlock, Do you remember, Redbeard?

"I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft."

"No, of course you're not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock."

**III.**

I lied when I told Moriarty that Sherlock's favorite childhood story was Hansel and Gretel. His favorite story was the tale of the two Barbarossa brothers, both known as Redbeard the pirate.

He loved the story so much, that he named his dog after them. Redbeard had to be put down in the end.

Oh! Sherlock must have been thinking of that when he said that he was not a child, of crying or perhaps being put down.

Sherlock cried and cried when Redbeard died, but that wasn't what I was referring to at all.

I was remembering a curly haired boy in blue pajamas sitting in his bed while I read to him from The Great Book of Pirate Stories. When we would get to the part where the Sultan Soliman allowed his closest and best advisor Ibrahim to be killed by his woman, Roxalana. Sherlock would jump to his feet and yell. "He should have killed her! Ibrahim was clever. She was just jealous of him. I will never let emotions influence my decisions like he did."

"Ah, but love changes people. At least that's what they say."

"I'll never love anyone, then. I'll be like Redbeard '_a body, a brain, and an intellect, without any trace of a heart.' "_

"An excellent ambition, Sherlock,"

It had been my own ambition as well. We would be two heartless pirate brothers ruling our own empire, and the whole of the civilised world would quail at the name of Holmes, or so we had thought. But now, Sherlock has broken his promise not to love. For it is obvious to the dullest observer that he loves John Hamish Watson as deeply as the Sultan had loved his Roxalana.

No, I won't go to the wedding. I can not bear to watch Sherlock's painfully earnest attempts to show his love to John by acting ... normal. I refuse to witness such a thing, just as I refuse to look at John, awash in appreciation of his new bride and his dearest friend, John, immaculately dressed in his tailored suit, John, warm, bright, and glowing on his wedding day.

I am the eldest. I must keep my mind clear, cold, and able to reason, and I will do so, even if it means cutting out my own heart.


	9. 22 May, 2014

**I.** _22 May, 2014_  
_Prime minister sex scandal averted due to newspaper magnate pay off. Dead end on European counterfeiter fiasco, literally. Predicted high of nineteen degrees. Partly cloudy skies, clearing to full sun._

**II.** Not that I've had a chance to see the sun in last three days with the situation in the Balkans.

And now things have become even more difficult. Agent 2575 was found yesterday morning _sans_ head. There must definitely be a connection between the counterfeiters and the government. The fake money is being sent along official channels. It has been found in a number of European banks mixed with actual currency. If this is not stopped, it will lead to distrust in the Euro and may even threaten the World Bank.

I must text Anthea. The file for 2575 should be retired and placed in the secure archive. She was a good agent, very good. Such a shame to lose her. We need another agent. Someone just as good or better. Perhaps a specialist in counterfeiting. Someone that they would seek out. It would alleviate suspicion if they were the ones who instigated the connection. I must think on this.

But what's this on my desk? Oh yes, Sherlock's wedding speech. Margarete was at the wedding disguised as wait staff. She has an exceptional memory for speech and can recall and replay an entire days worth of conversations at will. Much better than an audio recorder. She was getting tired of diplomatic assignments despite her incredible usefulness at political summits. This undercover assignment was to be a treat for her. It also was designed to show her how very boring field work is, so that she wouldn't mind the soft assignments that she has been getting. And on the plus side, she actually does have a background in catering.

This transcript is long. Sherlock must have been flustered. He does tend to ramble on and on when he is excited. Strange. My first thought was that he would freeze up and say nothing. No... my very first though was that he wouldn't give a speech at all. Two years ago, the very thought of such a thing would have been a joke. I was surprised to find that he had agreed to it. But then again, for John Watson there is very little that Sherlock will not do.

_"Today we honor the death watch beetle that is the doom of our society..."_ Ha, ha! He's just insulted John, Mary, the bride maids, and God for that matter. But what is this? _"The bravest and kindest..."_ Oh my. Oh My!

_"The two people who love you most... We will never let you down, and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."_

Love! My brother has made a public confession of love. Amazing! I wouldn't have believed such a thing was possible of the boy who always shied away from public displays of affection. He's wanted people before, liked them even, but never in my knowledge has he ever admitted it, at least not publicly.

Why now? And why did he want me to witness his public confession of weakness? Does he suspect me? Does he know that I...

Of course he knows. How can he not know of my affection for John Watson. Sherlock has always been able to deduce my feelings. He is annoying that way. Oh, how he mocked me when I was infatuated with Alister Walliston, so rude. He told me that he was seeing Roberta Coone behind my back, and he was right. He is always right in such matters, unerringly so. So the fact that he is saying this out loud... is it a challenge to me? Why else would he confess weakness like this? Why not privately in his flat while alone with the man. So much time the two of them spend alone together, with only a loyal landlady below who would never tell their secrets.

John Watson has always been able to drive Sherlock to do things that are against his nature. They were even jailed for public drunkenness, Sherlock hates to drink! Well... he hates getting drunk, ever since that time at the Christmas charity ball when he was seventeen... ha, ha, ha! That was hilarious. He avoided the Royal Albert Hall for years after that.

But this is my vanity talking, my own delusion. I was never anything to John Watson. To him, I am simply Sherlock's older brother. One day, Sherlock and he might ... find each other, but John will never ... not with me, never with me. Why do I delude myself? Such a weakness, delusion.

Like Sherlock's delusion that John would remain close to him after he is married. He should know enough about human nature to know how unlikely that is. But perhaps that is the real reason for the confession. He has decided to bow out gracefully. To walk away if it will make John happy. Has Sherlock learned to be noble? Has he finally learned how to put another person's happiness before his own? Has he grown up, at last?

**IV.**  
Mycroft wipes a tear from his eye, then he quickly reads the entire transcript. At the end his mouth falls open, and he reads the ending again out loud. The words echoing against the walls of the empty office.

" _'Whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.'_ Did he really say...? Well, something must be done about that."

**II.**  
(He adjusts the knocker which has fallen askew again and enters the flat at 221B Baker street. )

Sherlock is difficult to talk to unless he is distracted by something inane. Perhaps we can discuss this over a hand of old maid. What is this? Has he been moving things. That scratch on the stairs, they've been recently swept. It can't be for me. Who is it that he wants to impress?

**IV.**  
"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock calls out.

Mycroft enters the room avoiding the pile of books that Sherlock placed there to trip him. Sherlock is buttoning his coat. It is a new blue one, dashing and a bit too bright for him. He notices the absence of John's chair.

**II.**  
Where did he put it? In his bedroom perhaps or is it hidden away upstairs in the room that is sure to become a shrine to his lost love. Sherlock is always so dramatic.

**IV.**  
"Can you please say whatever it is that you have come to say and be on your way? I'm expecting someone."

"And a good afternoon to you as well, Sherlock. When will you learn proper manners?"

"When will you learn to stop binging on _petit fours_? You've already gained five pounds since I last saw you."

"Always so pleasant, Sherlock. You know why I am here."

"No, and I don't care. Leave now before my guest arrives."

"The wedding speech, what did you mean by that?"

"If you were so interested in the wedding, you should have attended it."

"I read the transcript. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That it can't have been that important if it takes you over two days to respond."

" _'Whatever it takes, I swear that I will always be there.'_ Why on Earth would you say such a thing?"

"It is none of your business what I say or what I don't say, Mycroft. Besides, it's old news now."

"Have you learned nothing? What did we learn about making rash oaths? Please tell me that you don't plan to carry through with this promise."

The doorbell rings.

"And this is your cue to leave. Excuse me while I get the door."

Sherlock runs lightly down the steps. Mycroft frowns down at his umbrella as he listens to the conversation.

"Hi! Janine, what a pleasant surprise."

Was that the sound of a kiss on the cheek?

"Would you like to come up?"

"Sure."

Mycroft frowns at the sound of high heels on the step. What is Sherlock doing?

"Oh I'm sorry, you have company," the dark-haired woman says.

"Oh. that's my brother, Mycroft. He was just leaving."

"Your brother?" she says smirking at Sherlock. "You mean that there are more like you? So pleased to meet ya, Mike."

"Mike?"

"That is what they call you isn't it, or is it Mikey? You can't expect me to believe that people call you Mycroft all of the time." She laughs. Sherlock laughs with her.

"Please, take a seat?"

"Wouldn't mind if I do."

"Mycroft, don't you have matters of State to deal with?"

"Sherlock, might I have a word with you in the hallway?"

"But I have a guest."

"It's okay, Sherl, I can wait while you talk to your brother. It will give me a chance to case your flat. Always an important thing to do."

Sherlock laughs again before following Mycroft into the hall and closing the door. His face becoming less animated as soon as the door shuts.

"John Watson..." Mycroft says quietly.

"Mycroft, leave now. We have nothing to discuss."

"Nothing to discuss?" he says, his voice rising involuntarily. "I think that we do."

"My actions are none of your business."

"They are when you endanger the both of us with dangerous declarations."

"Dangerous?"

"Of course, dangerous. You are a public figure now. What you say gets reported, and you have just announced your weaknesses to the world. You've pointed a finger to the Watsons telling all of your enemies to attack them to get to you. How could you?"

"It's time for you to leave."

"Couldn't you have done such a thing in private? God knows what else you've been up to behind closed doors..."

"Goodbye, Mycroft!" he said loudly grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the stairs.

"And what are you doing with that woman?"

Sherlock pushes him toward the banister and glares. Then his eyes fall and a look of terrible sadness crosses his face before he puts on his mask again and steps back into the room.

Mycroft frowns as he listens to the happy talk that the two of them are making, then he turns and walks slowly down the stairs.


End file.
